


Babysitting

by nsynclancefan



Series: The Alternate Life Of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Kidlock, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsynclancefan/pseuds/nsynclancefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Siger and Violet have a last minute conference they have to be at, due to a last minute cancellation of their colleagues. John’s family is away at a funeral, and no one is available on their list of babysitters. After a long debate in their bedroom, with Sherlock and Mycroft secretly listening from behind the door, they decide on allowing the ten-year-old son to watch the two-year-old son.</p><p>Not one of their best decisions as parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mycroft Watches His Brother

It took Violet a long time to leave the house early in the morning of the conference, and Siger had to practically drag her to the car. Mycroft shut the door and locked it, as per his mother’s orders, and put an unloaded gun in the draw by the front door, as per his father’s orders. These skills Mycroft has learned in his ten years is remarkable and scary to Sherlock, but overall fascinating.

It only takes five minutes of the two of them sitting in the entertainment room watching the children’s programing on the television before Sherlock is bored.

“Dull.” He wanders over to the television and not only turns the power off, but unplugs the television set as well. “Play with me Fatcroft.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Sherlock, that is not my name and I am perfectly healthy for my age. I do not like that you picked that up from Harry that one time we had a dispute.”

“Outside.”

“We can’t play outside. Mother and father want us inside all day.”

“Outside.”

“No Sherly.”

Now it is Sherlock’s turn to get upset at his nickname. He takes in a deep breath and holds it, staring down Mycroft with determination.

“What do you think you will accomplish from that?”

Sherlock wobbles a bit on his feet, his little fists shaking as he struggles with the rapid build up of carbon dioxide in his blood stream.

“Sherlock we can’t!”

His face turns red and purple.

“FINE! JUST BREATH ALREADY!”

Sherlock quickly lets out his breath and breathes rather quickly for a few moments before grinning at his brother and running to his room to get changed.

“Just put rain gear on!” Mycroft yells after him, rubbing his face with his hands. “Brat.”

~

Mycroft knows that his parents will punish him greatly for taking Sherlock outside. He knows that his parents will beat him for letting Sherlock poke at the fried squirrel beneath the power lines. He knows that his parents will kill him for letting Sherlock run out into a busy street to save a duckling that almost became road kill.

The look on Sherlock’s face as he chatted about their previous adventures with such elation at the park swings made all the future hell Mycroft will encounter worth it.

Except Sherlock began to sneeze. Before that point, he knew he could keep it from his parents if he bribed Sherlock with access to his room for a week. They were safe from the rain under gazebos, but Sherlock wanted to run in the rain and Mycroft didn’t want to chase him. Big mistake, because he is now carrying a sneezing and shivering Sherlock on his back to their home under his umbrella.

They reached the front door and Mycroft had to juggle Sherlock, his umbrella, and unlocking the door. He ends up dropping the umbrella and jostling Sherlock to the point where he begins to cry as he unlocks the door. He gets Sherlock inside on the couch before going after his umbrella, which is now flying across the lawn as the wind picks up. He gets inside the house as a muddy mess. Sherlock is still crying on the couch, throwing his rain gear to the floor.

“Bath, baby brother, and then a nap. Mother will murder me if you get a cold.” Mycroft picks up Sherlock, who squirms and screams, as he carries him to the bathroom. He gets the tub going and strips Sherlock, before tossing him in, literally.

“I hate you Fatcroft!” Sherlock cries as he sits in the tub. Mycroft adds some body wash to the water and watches as the bubbles form around his brother, whose eyes quickly change from agony to curiosity. Sherlock begins to pop every bubble in the bathtub, his normal routine during bath time, while Mycroft goes to his room across the hall to clean up. He makes it quick, and hurries back to the bathroom and watches Sherlock pop the bubbles. After a few moments, he takes a deep breath and goes about the tedious task of washing Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock nearly drowns himself to get away from Mycroft’s fingers digging into his scalp, but Mycroft wins and tells Sherlock to wash the dirt from his body on his own, or else he was going to climb in and do it for him.

Sherlock washes himself just fine, a smirking Mycroft sitting on the toilet adjacent.

~

It appears the sneezes Sherlock had outside were just coincidence and he was not getting sick. He was content sitting in front of the television, with Buzz, watching The Magic School Bus and telling Buzz all the things right and wrong with his favorite American show.

Mycroft lies on the couch and takes the distraction of Sherlock as his cue to nap, even though Sherlock should be the one napping.

~

He wakes up to Sherlock shaking him rapidly. When he opens his eyes, he sees a red-face Sherlock. He thinks it may be from tears, but when he places his hand on Sherlock’s cheek to feel for the wetness, he gets extreme heat.

Mycroft scrambles to a sitting position and pulls Sherlock close to him, feeling his forehead and cheeks and neck several times before confirming that he is running a fever. Whether it was from the rain or the squirrel or natural causes, their parents were going to kill him.

“I’m hot.”

“Yes, because you are running a fever.”

“I’m not running.”

“A fever is when your body temperature is too high.”

“Why?”

“Because your body is trying to fight something inside you.”

“Dull.”

“Actually it is quite fascinating, but uncomfortable.”

“Yes.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

“Here,” Sherlock points to his stomach.

“Do you feel like something is going to come up?”

“It already did.” He points to the mess all over Buzz. Mycroft winces and tries to stay focused. Sherlock is obviously not sick because he went outside, unless he licked his stick he used to poke the dead squirrel with. Mycroft didn’t see him do that, so he rules that out. He might have poisoned him when he made lunch, since the sandwich meat has been in the fridge for a while and smelled a tiny funny. Yet he ate some too, and he was not vomiting.

No matter the cause, his parents were going to be furious.

“Okay, here is what we are going to do…”

~

Three hours later, Mycroft is sitting across from Sherlock in his hospital bed. His parents are in the hall talking with the doctor, and Sherlock is unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm evil, leaving it like this. Give me a day and I will have the rest written. I took a biology class recently at my college, so don't doubt my intelligence when it comes to some of the science in this. My mother is also a nurse, and I use her as a dictionary when necessary. Cheers!


	2. Mycroft Never Stops Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you symptom checker for helping me come up with the illness. Might I say it is very... Sherlock?

Mycroft carries Sherlock to his room and lays him in bed, slightly in a panic. He hurries into the bathroom, where he retrieves the garbage can and wets a washcloth. He hurries to Sherlock’s side, and just in time for his second vomiting spell. After he is finished, Mycroft lays him back and puts the washcloth on his forehead.

“I am calling Mother and Father. I’m not sure what to do except this, Sherlock. Stay in bed.” 

Sherlock rolls his head to the side, not moving any other part of his body or protesting his brother’s orders. This worried Mycroft immensely and he hurried to the phone. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” His mother’s voice is panicked and whispered. 

“Why do you assume something is wrong?” He liked to be trusted, even if he did screw up this _one_ time. 

“Because I told you only to call in an emergency. What is the emergency?” 

Mycroft gulps. “Sherlock threw up twice and he is really hot in the face. I think he has a temperature.” 

“Oh dear god.” Violet covers her phone and grabs her husband’s arm, dragging him immediately out of the conference hall and into the main lobby. She puts her son on speaker. “Okay, repeat that again for your father.” 

“Sherlock is puking and feverish!” 

“Oh boy.” Siger rubs the back of his neck. “When did it start?” 

“I was napping on the couch with Sherlock in front of the telly. He wakes me up, face red and Buzz a mess. I get him in his room, grab the garbage can from the bathroom and a cold washcloth, and return to him before he vomits again. He didn’t even protest my orders to stay in bed. He just said okay.” 

Violet and Siger exchange worried glances. “We are coming home. Let us talk to Sherlock, honey.” 

“Okay.” Mycroft hurries down the hall as his parents hurry down the lobby and toward the elevator. 

They hear Mycroft yelp. 

“WHAT?” Violet and Siger cry, freezing outside the elevator. 

They do not receive a reply because Mycroft had dropped the phone in the hallway. He had to because he needed to stop his brother from falling off the bed. Sherlock’s body shakes uncontrollably, and Mycroft struggles to hold his down and away from the edge. He can hear is parents from the hallway, but remains by his brother until his shakes stop. 

“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay?” Mycroft pats his face, but Sherlock does not respond. Mycroft rests his head against his chest and can feel his shallow breathing. At he was dead… yet. 

Mycroft rushes to the phone. “Sherlock was just shaking like crazy and now he isn’t responding to me. HELP!” 

“Mycroft,” Siger rips the phone from his now sobbing wife’s hands. “I need you to take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?” 

Mycroft does, feeling little relief afterwards. 

“Your mother and I are going to head to the hospital. You are to immediately call the paramedics. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, father.” 

“Stay with your brother Mycroft.” 

“Yes, father.” 

The line goes dead. Mycroft ends the call and freezes for a moment, looking from the phone to his brother. Sherlock’s face is pastier now, and his hands twitch slightly. Mycroft walks over to him and holds his right hand tightly, dialing the paramedics and watching over his brother, per his orders. 

~ 

The paramedics were really kind to Mycroft as he explains the situation. He lied about his parents leaving him as babysitter for the day. He just said they had just gone out to the store to get something when Sherlock all of a sudden became violently ill. He said he was unsure if Sherlock took any medications, since he had napped, but Sherlock didn’t do things like that. He hated taking his vitamins every day, let alone chug a bottle of some random medication. He barley ate his meals, which made meal time a pain in the ass. 

The ride in the ambulance was uneventful. He just watches as IVs were put into his brother before another seizure hit him. That is what the paramedics said it was. They rolled him on his side and held down his arms and Mycroft had to watch in horror as they screamed out random medical terms to each other and were pushing him out of the way to get to more IVs. 

At the hospital, his mother was crying as they wheeled in Sherlock and took him to the critical care unit. His father took Mycroft’s hand, as well as his wife’s, as they waited in the lobby for news. It took them about thirty minutes to stabilize Sherlock before they were allowed to go in and see him. 

After his mother sobbed over Sherlock and his father held his hand for a short moment, they were ushered into the hall by the doctor. Now Mycroft sits next to his unconscious brother, waiting. 

~ 

“I’m going to be punished.” 

“No you are not. Now I need you to tell the doctor everything you two did today.” 

“You’re going to punish me.” 

“Why would we punish you?” 

“Because I took him outside.” 

Siger tries to control himself and Violet shakes her head. 

“Tell the doctor what happened. Your brother is really sick and he needs to know everything.” 

Mycroft lets out a long sigh, suddenly having to fight back tears. He takes a deep breath and tells the story of Sherlock’s outside adventure, from the squirrel poking to the running in the rain. Violet had to retain a scream when she finds out about him running out into the street and Siger tries to refrain from spanking Mycroft for letting him poke the dead animal. 

And then the doctor chimed in, having listened very carefully to all the events described. 

“Did you brother actually handle the dead animal with his hands?” 

“No. He poked it with a stick.” 

“Did he touch the end of the stick that came into contact with the animal?” 

“No. I grabbed it from him after he was done and threw it into a bush.” 

The doctor kneels in front of Mycroft, a soft look to her face opposite to the looks of horror and anger on his parents. She looks Mycroft in the eyes, retaining constant contact. 

“Did your brother get bit by anything today? Anything at all.” 

“The duckling did not bite him. It was rather happy, actually.” 

“I mean by something small, such as an insect.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I need you to think long and hard, sweetie. Anything at all.” The doctor watches Mycroft as he runs through the day over and over again in his mind, trying to come up with anything that could lead to Sherlock being so sick. 

“No… he didn’t” 

The doctor sighs. 

“But he did put something into his mouth! Well, I think he did.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I think I saw him, out of the corner of my eye, drinking water from a puddle in the dirt. I thought he was just splashing it around, but he might have been drinking it.” 

The doctor sighs again and stands up, looking at Violet and Singer. 

“But whenever he does something like that, he always spits it back out. He hates to eat, and he just likes to use his taste to experiment with things.” 

“It doesn’t matter whether he swallowed or spit it out, or just had it on his hands and then wiped his face. Bacteria could have still gotten into his system.” The doctor walks over to Siger. “You said you were a scientist, which means you can gather a proper sample without contamination, right?” 

Siger nodded, and the doctor took him down the hall into the nearby lab. Violet and Mycroft are left staring at each other. 

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft whispers to his mother. Violet looks away from him, another tear falling from her face. Siger returns with the doctor, who is holding a bag with tubes and swabs inside. He kneels down next to Mycroft, who doesn’t want to look back. 

“I need you to go with your dad and show him where Sherlock was so he can gather a sample. Can you do that?” 

Mycroft nods and Siger takes his hand, walking him down the hall and quickly out of the hospital. 

The car ride to the park is silent, and Mycroft avoids his father’s gaze. He messed up, big time. How was he to know the playground was a _dangerous_ place? Kids go there all the time, probably jam rocks into their noses and ears and never go home sick. 

Maybe they did, and they just didn’t spread the word around about it. 

They reached the park in record time and Mycroft showed his father the puddle where Sherlock was. To be through, Siger takes samples from the dirt around it as well as the water. He samples other puddles nearby also, and then takes Mycroft back to the hospital. 

Siger pulls up in the hospital parking lot and turns off the engine. He unbuckles and turns around to look at Mycroft. Mycroft returns the gaze, reading disappointment, anger, sadness, and fear in his father’s face. He waits to hear is punishment. 

“Mycroft, you made a very poor decision today.” 

Mycroft nods, dropping his gaze. 

“But I do not blame you for Sherlock getting sick.” 

Mycroft immediately looks into his father’s eyes, seeing the unforgettable sign of compassion hidden beneath his pain. 

“We should not have left you home with him, and you did not know that there would be something horribly wrong with the ground at the park. Maybe this will be a good thing, and while Sherlock was the victim, many others may be saved from the same fate. You two might just be heros” 

Mycroft smiles at his father, his lower lip slightly trembling. “Thanks dad.” 

“Now let us help your brother.” 

~ 

Apparently, some bacteria were in the soil, maybe left by parasites that were contaminating a flock of birds, or a group of insects. Either way, Sherlock had encephalitis, better known as a brain infection. If the soil didn’t return anything, they would have had to stick a needle into Sherlock’s spine. Now they know that there is a hazard in the public park and they can help other children from getting sick, or who are already sick. 

The treatment was put into effect a few hours after they had retrieved the samples from the park, since it takes time to run tests in the lab. Another few hours of treatment pass and Sherlock wakes up. Violet quickly recalled her husband and eldest son from the snack machines nearby. The three of them rushed to Sherlock’s side. He looks around at them; confused at the emotions dripping from their faces and the odd room he was now in. 

“You’re in the hospital darling,” Violet says. “You’re going to be okay.” 

“You decided to put the wrong thing in your mouth at the wrong time,” Mycroft smirks, though inside he is still tearing himself up for putting Sherlock into the situation where he would do such a thing. 

“Glad you’re back son.” Siger pats his son’s shoulder. “You’re a hero.” 

Sherlock looks from his mother to his father to his brother. He lets out a puff of air and closes his eyes. 

“Boring.” 

Violet and Siger laugh, holding each other next to Sherlock’s bed, finally relieved of the emotions that have been bottled up since Mycroft called. Mycroft wanders back into the hallway and releases the breath that he didn’t know he was holding in, as well as the tears he was fighting to keep inside. His brother was safe and sound, but he never would be in the hospital if Mycroft had just ignored his brother and kept him inside. 

He swears to himself he will always do the best for Sherlock, whether Sherlock likes it or not. If he was seen as his arch nemesis, like in those cheesy fairy tales, then so be it. His life with Sherlock will be the most famous sibling rivalry of all time; Sherlock will make sure of it.


End file.
